Misery Business
by Aquacero
Summary: Trust is a gambit. It's having faith despite the warnings of thunderous clouds raging overhead, you wont be struck, that despite stumbling upon a stalking tiger, he won't pounce. Despite all the possible ways that trust could be shattered, you decide to place it anyway, hoping you've made a sound investment with your heart, despite what your head is saying.
1. Savor

Middle of the day, gold liquid filters through the skeletons of trees and splattered the dirt and grass with its luminosity. I look up, through translucent viridian wings basking in the brilliant sunlight. The sky hovers past the canopy, cerulean and magnanimous, withholding the tempest of its judgement. Every leaf and blade of grass fidgets. No mouse ventures here.

I drive my hands into the hole once again, wriggling my fingers its warm dampness. They wrap around hearty, meaty tissue and I tug it free. I pointedly avoid Liam's direction as I grind the liver in my razored teeth. I would like to say otherwise, but fact remains - it's the most delicious part. Anytime circumstances come to this, I always tell myself, "Next time I won't eat the intestines." After the rave of supernatural hunger subsides, the taste of shit will never be pleasing. I've never been able to keep that promise. This time, I'm in control. I'm not blinded by the excruciating pain of hunger, as if my insides sought to digest itself. I could stop at any moment. I didn't have to consume everything, strip every bone dry.

Technically, I did, or something very close to it. But I could choose_ not_ to. That's all the power I really need.

"You don't have to watch me do this." I grumble, feeling self-conscious of my more infernal habits. I wipe blood running down my chin with a clean patch of skin on my forearm and catch his wide, electric gaze before quickly averting.

"We can't afford anyone walking in on this," he says, running his hand through his wildly soft spiky hair as he quickly turns and checks the surroundings.

"So yeah, I kinda have to."

There's fear trembling in his voice, and he gags almost inaudibly. He's right. As a werewolf, he could hear and smell any intruder before I could. Only another supernatural would be able to come remotely close, and even then, they'd have to deal with Liam.

Worse comes to worse, I'd have to help.

I dig through the carcass again, ripping open the chest cavity. Liam's tension and apprehension is impossibly tangible as the body squelches and moans under my rummaging. My fingers clasp around the thick organ, leathery and tender. With little effort, I rip the heart out, veins and arteries snapping minutely. Liam cringes, being able to hear it all clearly.

"That would be so badass… if it weren't so…" he trails as my teeth slice through the organ easily, tearing off chunks for me to chew and swallow.

I look up from over the body and I catch Liam gazing at me with a tortured expression, the glint in his eyes unmistakable. I flash him a toothy grin and his eyes flare golden - only for an instant. Between the blood flowing down my jaw and the crimson gloves adorning my forearms, Liam found this unnatural display attractive.

That doesn't mean he's okay with this.

"Fuck."

What comes later is what I hate most about this - the tentative touches, unsure and unfamiliar, as if we were strangers. Barely acquainted. Having to build trust, his and mine, I want to prove that I am more than a monster. It's honestly silly of me to think anything would change. We didn't have much else in the way of options.

Liam dug an impressive pit underneath an old oak tree, and I dumped the stripped bones and intestines unceremoniously. We exchanged glances and broke into smiles, relieved. He places a firm, comforting hand on my shoulder, beaming with those vivid cerulean orbs.

"I'd hug you and I'd kiss you so hard right now."

"Really?" and I honestly don't know why I keep finding his acceptance so surprising.

He nods, slipping his fingers underneath the hem of my shirt, "Let's get you cleaned up." He peels the bloody fabric off my skin and unzips his hoodie as I wipe the excess liquid off my arms, hands, and chin. Liam hands me the multicolored jacket and zips it up, halfway up my chest after I put it on. Another one of my plain white T-shirts gets burned.

"You said we were an accident," they sing obnoxiously loud and impossibly discordant. I smile, watching Liam and Mason bounce off the walls.

"With accidents you'll never know," Mason leads,

"What could. Have. Been," Liam follows.

"SO WE WERE AN ACCIDENT," they harmonize this time, sounding somewhat pleasant despite their boisterous energy. Their dancing required no ceremony, and their entertainment left no room for shame to settle in. I could soak in the warm smirk Liam sends my way.

"You'll always be my favorite one."

My skin prickles with frission as I relish the moment of intimacy. Its fleeting, so subtle and smooth, the coy flick in his neon eyes amid the fast-paced, high-energy song. I catch it in my memory and replay it, even after they laid the karaoke to rest .

There's an unspoken agreement between Liam and I. During our hangouts with Mason, we tend to withhold on all the touching. It'd be disrespectful to have him over only to pay him no attention. Besides, Mason and Liam are always fun to watch feed off each other's energy.

Movie time, with cheese pizza and tortilla chips, is different however. We don't cuddle per se, but he sits noticeably close - enough where I can sling an arm around his shoulders, and the grease and toasted crust of his pizza scents strongly in my nose. I sip on my intensely sour brew of lemons and orange juice before shoveling a handful of chips into my shirt in my lap.

"I still don't know how your mouth hasn't shriveled and turned inside out yet," Mason gawks as I take a gulp.

I'm still not sure if it has to do with me being a wendigo and wendigo just like lemons, or if it's a personal, 100% Sean Walcott phenomenon and I just really like lemons. And sourness. Either way, I enjoy lemons and all the sourness they provide.

I nudged Liam and smirked, my lips barely parting. He turned and saw my smile, and instantly huffed his own.

"What?"

Liam bent over, head between his knees snickering.

"Hey, no. That's not fair. I want to be in on the joke too."

Liam shakes his head and sits up, face flushed from laughter. We locked eyes a moment, and he turns to Mason and shrugs.

"He just really likes sour things."

"Dammit Sean," he chuckled into my shoulder. My smile widens, satisfied that he got it.

"I need a boyfriend," Mason sighs as Flubber starts up, sounding sarcastic and vaguely Disney princess-esque. Liam doesn't miss a beat and has his ear pressed to a ringing phone, Mason mouthing, "What are you doing?"

"Hey Brett? Mason, Sean and I are having sort of a guy's night. Want to come over?"

"No!"

"Alright!"

Mason and Liam exclaim in unison. Liam sat with a triumphant smile, ending the spontaneous call.

"What was that, why'd you invite him over?"

"I'm _delivering_ him to you." Liam pats Mason's cheek, then says, "He's willing to suffer a night _with me_. At_ my house_. Think about it." He snaps and points, winking encouragingly. Mason chews on the idea for a bit, then replies, shoving Liam's shoulder,

"You're such a little shit, you know that?"

They just smile like dorks.

That night was just a small reprieve from the hell of our day jobs. None of our problems, supernatural or otherwise existed in the small frame of a midnight overture of games and movies and pointless conversations. One single night of normal humanity before we had to deal with the insanity that was the true nature of our lives.

Beacon Hills' protection is not a legacy easily shunted, but man did they leave a big one.


	2. Their Bodies Like Porcelain

Dark clouds shift and swirl, silhouetted against the bright blue sky. My seat growls and rumbles as I lie on my back, watching the cotton apparitions wisp along the breezes outside my window. Familiar shapes flow into an ephemeral existence, only to ebb into formless states. Between us, nothing more than a comfortable silence settled between us as we rode to the Sheriff's office. Liam sings softly to the radio and drums lightly on the wheel. I watch as sun beams pierce the edges of the clouds, setting fire to a blazing silver.

How tangible the light seemed, bent against the looming dusky grey.  
"Between the recent abductions and a rugaru piling up the bodies - "

"Sean and I took care of him, actually," Liam interjects, and the Sheriff lifts his eyebrows in mild shock.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I slashed his throat, and Sean ate him." He realizes, as soon as the words were out of his mouth, just how wrong it sounded. His eyes blew wide.

"You did what?!" Sheriff whisper-screams, his face puffy and red, gaze darting between us incredulously. Liam waves his hands defensively.

I groan, pinching my nose.

"Argent's bestiary said we could kill it only with fire, or seal it by dismembering it and keeping the pieces separate," he explains, not at all helping our case, "We figured if Sean ate him, he wouldn't be able to regenerate.

The sheriff flashes me a horrified look, then shakes his head and raises a hand in resignation, "Assassins. Hunters. Werewolves and wendigo. I should be used to this by now. That rugaru was our only lead to those missing children."

I nudge Liam harshly in the ribs, and pass a stern glance when our eyes meet.

"I can't say for certain, but I don't think the rugaru was responsible for the disappearances. They feed like us. On human flesh. But their hunger is more intense. It makes them sloppy and inconsistent. A rugaru wouldn't bother hiding the bodies."

"That would stop the body count at two, which is a good thing," Sheriff says, folding his arms, leaning back and peering at me, "But why do I feel like there should be a but in there somewhere?"

I feel Liam's glance against my cheek before drawing in a long breath.

"Unlike wendigo, a rugaru is bitten into cannibalism. If he really was responsible for those kids disappearing, we might be dealing with an infestation."

The sheriff sits down, brows wrinkled as he rubs the side of his lip.

"Why can't we just have normal criminals in this town for once?" he grumbles.

"We'll help any way we can," Liam offers.

As we always do. Even if Stiles hadn't practically made him sign a contract to protect his dad, and even if Scott hadn't been his alpha and left the protection of the town to him, Liam would be doing this anyway. No one needed to ask. However, he's nowhere near as sympathetic as Scott, the true alpha. Sometimes his anger gave way to sheer ruthlessness, and it didn't help he had this lethal weapon under his wrist. Mason wasn't always there to be the voice of reason, and I'm all for making the appropriate choices. In that regard, I could quench or fuel that ruthlessness and only later question the integrity of the decision.

"Do you think we could have cured it? Or at least sate his hunger for awhile like we do you? Instead of … killing him?" Liam asks he drove us back home.

"He had no control. He killed two people."

He ponders a bit, eyes glued to the head-lit road.

"So were you."

I didn't bother debating it. My features remained unchanged. True, my body count is much higher, and without Liam, I would still be struggling with the pangs of hunger. The difference laid in the fact that my hunger could be sated and if need be, I can starve myself to death. Rugaru literally cannot ignore their hunger, and their hunger cannot be sated. If it were otherwise, I wouldn't have agreed to killing it. That kind of existence is not only dangerous to anything breathing that also vaguely resembles human, but also a torturous one filled with endless suffering.

I don't think of it as mercy killing. I know my decision was mostly selfish. I just recognize, that kind of life isn't living at all.

"Yeah…"

A full moon glows, illuminating the darkness of Liam's room. Clear shadows spill against the corners of every object, obfuscating with the passing of wayward clouds. His eyes shine like suns, warm and inviting, yet fierce and dangerous. I wanted to consume every part of his beauty, to nestle underneath his skin and bathe in his every aspect. His smile, so sure of itself, etches across his face as the warmth of his touch runs up my bare chest and settles there.

"Can't get enough of this pretty face?" he taunts, his other hand grasped unto my bicep.

"Can't get enough of you," my voice gravelly from arousal. My face dives into the crease of his neck, gently tugging the skin between my teeth. He groans as I alternate between small pecks and nibbles, up the curve of his shoulder and down the panes of his broad chest.

I snap my hips into his, and he huffs out a moan as his body bobs against the mattress. No claws, only the blunt press of his fingers across my shoulder blades, and no fangs, only rows of porcelain and enamel met mine. Again, I grind our clothed erections together, driving him into the covers, and he whines with want, baring his neck to me.

We could never do anything this intimate when Liam first turned. The passion and indulgence couldn't exist when we were fucking like animals trying to consume each other. I'd have to pin his wrists above his head so he wouldn't shred my back. I couldn't fit my lips into his or run my tongue along his teeth from all the roaring and gnashing. His wolf was insatiable and often fought for dominance. It liked to be punished and abused; to be fucked so hard and thoroughly, every thrust tore a whimper or a scream from his throat. We found out that even a werewolf could limp afterward.

Now, we could even use his bed. Steal away intimacy at any moment without fear of getting caught or provoking the monsters inside us. Sex with Liam was always fun, and eminent danger added a certain flavor to that. But being able to touch and kiss show him all the care in the world meant so much to me.

He even had the confidence to take me on occasion. Very little else turns me on more than sexy, confident Liam in absolute control of himself.

Liam cants his hips to meet my thrusts, panting, "What are we virgins? Lose the sweatpants."

I sit up on my knees, hovering over him with my penis outlined unabashedly against my sweats. He grabs my thick rod and strokes it through the cotton fabric, earning a pleasure hazed moan as I thread a hand through my hair.

"Your so fucking sensitive." he teases.

Shrugging off my sweats, I grab his hips roughly and jerk his boxers off his waist, his own erection springing free as he yelps in surprise.

"Lube or no?" I ask with his left leg already slung over my shoulder, his right foot settled on the curve of my ass. Last few times, he opted to forgo the process, saying his healing made it all pointless and he kind of liked the burn. I have to remember to ask still, because he might not always feel like putting up with it.

"You're already - ungh - head in," he grunts as I press deeper, "Just -unf-fuck! Sean!" He screams as I buck into him fully, silencing his sarcasm. My pace begins leisurely, yet powerful as Liam responds grunting and moaning in my ear. His left hand threads into the back of my hair and clings there, his right trails up my arm and clutches my shoulder blade.

It didn't seem to matter how quiet we tried to be. Between the bed, Liam, and my own admissions of pleasure, there was too much noise to sneak one in while his dad was here. In the night, it was nice being able to admire his naked body, eyes still golden and shining against his smooth skin. Without fear of decency. Or worse - the talk.

To hear him breathe, feel the rise and fall of his chest next to me, and fall asleep in the manner we always do, Simply existing in the moment. We never say, "I love you," but this felt pretty close. Maybe more, even when sex isn't involved.

An exciting week of school awaited. Mason and Liam have a divisional game Wednesday against Brett's team. The past three years, that game was always heated and extremely intense and Liam's past with that school fueled that flame. Besides that, the school planned a talent show, which Mason urged us into (Look, I'll sign you up myself if I have to). We're still in the process of choosing a song to perform, but I'm just eager, and a little intimidated, to be playing with Liam on stage. He's so good on the guitar and even though he's pretty timid about it, his singing voice was almost therapeutic when he's serious. I find it odd and uncharacteristic of him to be so reserved about something he's good at, but I don't question it anymore.

"Think they'll let us skip study hall and practice in the music room instead?"

I shrug, "Knowing you, I don't think the answer really matters."

It's a nice trade. I pull up his grades and he convinces me to skip classes - only the "unimportant" ones, calling them "sick days".

"No," he smirks, gripping the straps of his backpack, "but it's nice to go through the motions, you know? Besides, we need some practice in before your drama club stuff."

It'd be dark before I finished. Liam's dad had a strict no-instruments rule which neither of us had the gall to break. Once the sun hits the horizon, that's it. The neighbors were sticklers for noise violations, and my violin was apparently too loud.

"Guess we'll find out," I say, my arm wrapping around his favorite multicolored hoodie, fingers latching onto his side as he slings an arm around my shoulder.

The answer is technically no, but Ms. Giles doesn't really care.

"I'm not giving you a hall pass, so you better not get caught."

"I knew you'd soften her up, you cutie, you," he teases, pinching my cheeks on our way to meet up with Mason during lunch.

"You're such a dork," I huff, shying away from his reach.

I've gotten pretty good at reading Liam's expressions, and the face he makes when he hears a far of conversation is unmistakable. Few times, he'd look in a general direction quickly, then steal a touch, however slight. People talk. I say let them. Though it's unfortunate he has to hear everything. Sometimes it's as simple as a compliment, other times the conversation wouldn't be so generous. Liam doesn't get jealous or frustrated enough to turn anymore, which saved on trips to the bathroom and therapeutic kissing (a trick we learned from Lydia).

Sometimes he'd catch conversations where promiscuity headlined the topics. Harsh break ups and possibly some transmission of STI's underlied the school's general hum. There was even a girl - Rachael Mayborn we later found out - who cried in the stalls and hid there. Her lover not only left her without a word of warning, but physically got up and left a whole life behind.

Tragic.

"Big game Wednesday. Super stoked. Also kind of anxious." Mason states with marked energy, eyebrows flaring.

"Why's that?" Liam furrows his brows, and leans in with one hand caressing his chin. "Wouldn't have anything to do with Brett would it?" He quirks a single brow, and his electric blue eyes seem live with current.

"No." Mason firmly states, mouth exaggerating the formidable O shape as he continues, "We can kick his ass same as any other," (Honestly, Liam's been wing-manning this for two years now. How he's ever going to get his best friend to date his sworn enemy is still beyond me).

"It's just that, when has something ever not happened during a big lacrosse game?"


End file.
